Bound to the Dutchman
by OctoberThirtyFirst
Summary: At the end of his second year, Harry finds himself stranded at sea, three hundred years in the past. With only his wand and two measly years of Hogwarts under his belt, will he manage to survive the cruelty of Davy Jones and find a way back to the present or does destiny have another path for our hero?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Lumos."

The light illuminated nothing more than the waterlogged piece of driftwood that Harry clung to. It was no more than a few planks, nailed together at the edges, but it did its job. Around him spread only the endless black depths of the sea – not even the sky could be seen in the hours after dusk. All was quiet, save for Harry's own breaths as he tried to calm his shaking hand.

It was cold. It had been so long since he rested.

Another night. Another night and perhaps the day will bring him in sight of land.

A swell threatened his overturn him and his bit of wood and Harry yelled as it washed over his head. The taste of brine filled all his senses and he spluttered to get the water out of his mouth, desperately holding onto his wand.

The fact that this wasn't a dream had been dashed almost as soon as he arrived, but Harry couldn't imagine any other explanation for his current predicament. Illusion, perhaps? But no one had been there to cruse him. He should have been safe with the Dursleys.

Harry shook his head. None of that was important now. There was nothing he could do in this water, no spell he knew to bring him back to where he was supposed to be. Ron. Hermione. They wouldn't even know he was gone. He'd hoped that Dumbledore's wards on Privet Drive would have sent them but after an entire day and nothing… Harry didn't know what to do.

Being stranded in the middle of the ocean was terrifying enough in the day, but with the setting of the sun the water took on a different tone entirely. Harry couldn't even see his legs move underneath him, trying to keep him afloat.

They were almost entirely numb and the water was growing colder.

Harry bit down on his wand and began to kick. Land. He needed land. He needed rest and he needed help. He couldn't think of anything else – not of how this couldn't be the Great Lake, not of how his last day of kicking showed him no signs of having even _moved_.

Ahead came a light.

Harry blinked and reached for his wand.

"Nox."

It stayed.

Was this it? Had they finally come for him? Well, better late than never. All he felt was the relief that his nightmare would end. Everything would be alright. This would be just another misbegotten adventure.

"Hey! Over here," he shouted. "I'm over here."

Did they hear? Harry lit the tip of his wand again and waved it over his head. They must have seen that. Were they on brooms? Harry didn't think he could survive the trip after the last day but at least they were here.

Then the light drew closer and Harry's waving slowed down. The light grew bigger until it split and Harry could see that in fact there were multiple lights, all set a distance over the water. Then, over the waves came a creaking. The sound of wood grinding on wood and decades of wear and tear. A shiver ran down Harry's spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

Huge, tattered sails rose from the mast and wooden spikes jutted out from the front like teeth. The lights were lanterns nailed to masts and rolling free on deck. There was no one on board. The ship loomed in the distance, a hulking thing that seemed cobbled together out of driftwood and barnacle.

Harry, jaw open, cranked his head up as it approach. This was no rescue expedition. He didn't know what this was, but Harry was sure that no force of good would arrive in such an evil vessel. Then it was larger than life, ploughing through the water with the speed of the Hogwarts express, heading straight for him.

Cursing, Harry frantically shoved sloshed away from the helm but the ship was too quick. The waves that rose before the ship caught up to Harry and overturned him before he could draw a final breath.

He tumbled under, caught in the force of the eddies. Air caught at his throat and Harry fought down the urge to breathe. Wand still lit and secure in his hand, Harry sought for surface.

Panicked and with his clothing weighing on him more than ever, Harry couldn't right himself. All was dark. All was cold. His left leg spasmed and pain shot up his calf. Harry gasped and what air he had escaped through the water.

His lungs burned. The bubbles flowed. Up. He knew the way, but his legs failed him. A last desperate attempt to claw himself up with his arms failed. He was too weak. The fingers around his wand loosened and darkness encroached from beyond the radius of his lumos.

No. This couldn't be the end. He couldn't die like this. He _couldn't_ die.

* * *

The foul stench of rotting fish and bile that Harry woke up to nearly sent him under once more, but the nausea and urge to vomit was stronger still.

He rolled over to his side and heaved. Nothing came out the first time but then the water rose up and his throat was stung with acid as his stomach cleared itself of the ocean. There wasn't time for anything but the gargantuan effort of throwing up. His chest hurt, his stomach hurt, his eyes stung from the water and Harry couldn't wrap his head around surviving.

Arms shaking from holding himself up and breathing hard after almost drowning, Harry only then heard the laughter coming from all around him. Laughter and a rhythmic thud.

Thud.

Thud.

A wooden peg leg crashed down an inch from Harry's nose. A dollop of slime fell down his neck and Harry reached up to wipe at it. He looked up and froze.

It was like nothing he'd ever seen before. Illuminated by the light of the lanterns against a backdrop of night, a giant beard of tentacles hung curling and writhing over a salt entrusted chest. One hand clawed like a crab and the other was covered with translucent, slime ridden skin. The man – the creature of a man - was like a transfiguration gone horribly wrong.

He – and it was obvious a he, despite the disfiguration – laughed. Harry sucked in a breath and pulled in his limbs but the creature just leaned closer. Harry grimaced and turned his head sideways to avoid the sickening breath that came from the lipless mouth.

"What is a little worm like yourself doing so far from land?"

Harry shook his head, unable to answer. His whole body shook – whether from exhaustion or fear he couldn't tell, and the creature in front of him laughed again.

A smattering of other voices, clicks and hisses came from the rest of the crew, similarly distorted from men into gnarly figures, part fish, part crustacean.

"Get him up. Let me take a closer look at the worm."

There wasn't enough time to react before two of the disfigured crew hooked their arms beneath his and pulled him to his feet. One was entirely covered with a hard exoskeleton, hinged in three places along the forearm, and the other was almost human if not for the living barnacles attached to the skin.

Harry recoiled at the sight but he was too weak to do much more than jerk in their arms. His legs couldn't even hold himself up, and he scrambled for a firm footing. The world rocked, and another wave of nausea made his vision swim.

One tentacle reached out to trace the edge of Harry's jaw and Harry could feel the clammy skin on his. He held in a whimper. What were they? People or some kind of magical creature? What did they want with him?

"You afraid of death, boy? Of the great unending rift, of the abyss at the end of light? In your measly years upon the earth have you know any greater fear than the death of your soul, boy?"

The crew was silent. Their captain waited.

Harry ducked his head, miming thought. His wand. Where was his wand? He sought the deck but couldn't see anything in the flickering light and the mass of feet and tail and seaweed.

Panic rose thick and hard in his throat. Wandless, weak and alone in the middle of the sea, Harry was painfully aware of his own helplessness. He flicked his eyes back up into an uncompromising stare and couldn't hide his fear.

"Be ye afraid, boy? Would you have me cut your throat and leave you to the mercy of the sea? Thrown back overboard like we found you? Or would you serve under me? I can grant you life, prolong your fate. Provide an… escape."

Harry breathed, opened his mouth, and gasped, "Who are you?"

The creature straightened and spread his arms – both clawed and human – to his crew and his ship.

"You haven't roamed the seas if you never heard of I," it said. "I be Davy Jones, Lord of the Sea, Captain of the Flying Dutchman and _your_ rescuer. Join me, or die."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"I so swear. Loyalty 'til the seas run dry, 'til the Dutchman's quarry seeks no more its service, 'til hundred years pass of duty to the Dutchman and its captain."

Harry's mouth was dry when the words began but by the end his aching limbs soothed and his blurred vision cleared. The air grew warm and the sting of the rain lessened to an acceptable patter on his skin. It was almost like holding his wand for the first time, but the feeling of being in the midst of danger remained. The crew still cowed and Davy Jones loomed foreboding, not a change in his expression even as Harry repeated his words.

"Good," Davy Jones said. "Now, Pugwash, Benny! Take the new meat away and put him on the swab. Haul to, boys, we have a ground to cover for the next shipwreck."

"Wait!" Harry was bolder now that his energy had been renewed but the look that Jones gave him made clamp close his mouth. "I… um. Nothing. Sir. Captain."

The tentacle man humphed and turned around. The two of the crew holding Harry up stepped back and Harry took a tentative step, testing the strength in his legs. They held. The gathering around him dispersed in a flurry of activity as Davy Jones shouted orders that Harry could barely pick out.

Pugwash and Benny, or at least two creatures that Harry assumed were Pugwash and Benny stayed.

One was covered in a thick layer of hair, only it was more like the spines of a fish than anything found on a land creature. It was matted in thick strands and gave off an odour three times as worse as polyjuice potion. Harry fought not to gag and was surprised how easy it was.

The other had an extra set of arms, bent in the wrong way at the elbows. The hands, all four of them, were eerily human, but with the nailes sharpened to a thick black point. It had covered its whole body with tattered clothes, and its head was flattened and much too soft to be supported by bone.

Harry dodged a hand that tried to reach for him. "I can walk, thanks," he said.

They looked at each other and Harry wondered for a moment if they could speak at all. Then the hairy man whipped out a fist and Harry was sent reeling back, hand pressed to his face where he had been hit.

"The worm speaks not," the other said as the one who hit him laughed.

Harry glared before he dropped his gaze. Gritting his teeth, he let himself be dragged away. All around him, ropes were hauled and the sail billowed as it caught the wind. The ship crested a swell and Harry nearly lost his footing. He would have, if his arm wasn't within the grips of the four armed man. He could hardly hear his thoughts with the way the crew shouted over each other.

Pugwash and Benny had to throw someone clear off their path and Harry grimaced at the sound of shell hitting wood. He looked back once, searching for the Captain before they entered the bowels of the ship, but Jones was nowhere to be found.

The quarters were closer in the wooden corridors. They squeezed past a lump of coral pulsing in the corner and Harry averted his eyes when he saw that there was actually a crewmember underneath all that, scrubbing at the flooring. He had been totally overgrown.

He spied hammocks, hung in double rows within one room with misshapen figures sleeping on them and rooms filled with crates and barrels, marked with peeling paint labels and sticking of rotting wood. The floor beneath creaked with every step but the ship as a whole seemed to creak from the smallest bit of wind and water that it touched.

It felt like home.

Harry shook his head and tried to pinch some reality into his arms. This was crazy. Was it because of the oath he'd sworn? It couldn't have been a magical oath, could it? Oh dear Merlin if he had to stay here for a hundred years… Harry couldn't bear to think along that line any more. Dumbledore would find a way to get him out. He'd have to.

"Worm takes these."

With only the shortest of hesitations, Harry took the mop and bucket that was thrust into his chest and flicked the foul head away from his face.

"Swab."

With that, the two of them left and Harry was left alone in the swaying corridor. The handle of the mop was well used – shiny in the places that he held them. The bucket was wood. Leaky too, with gaps in the seams near the bottom that would be a nightmare to manage.

Assuming that Harry stayed long enough to do as they said. He needed to find a way out. Even being on the seas would be better than surrounded by monsters and on the ship Captained by someone like Davy Jones.

He had to stay small, keep quiet. He'd learned that all too well in his years at the Dursleys, though his strategies never seemed to please his aunt and uncle. These creatures here… they were a different story altogether. His cheek still stung from the hit from earlier and Harry was sure that more and worse would be to come if he stepped out of line.

_"You afraid of death, boy?"_

Harry set the bucket down and dipped the mop into the water. A crab crawled out the edge and scuttled into the shadows and his mop came out with several more latched onto the threads. Harry shivered, shook it hard, but they stayed on.

Swab, they said. He could swab. He'd swab for however long it took for Dumbledore to get here and get him out of this mess, and he won't stop swabbing until they came.

The wood of the passageway was mottled with grease and slime and for moments at a time, the effort of scrubbing them clean was enough to take Harry away from reality. He wasn't able to do much with a mop and seawater, but it was easy enough to lose himself within the chore, as he would do back in Privet Drive. Then one of the crew would push past him, covered with bulbous eyes or with sea creatures lodged in their back and he'd return to the Dutchman.

The sky outside edged towards light little by little, and with the first rays of sun easing down the steps to his deck, Harry felt his hope sink lower and lower. What was taking them so long? Was he under some sort of field so they couldn't find him? But that didn't explain the whole of yesterday when he floated out in the open. Surely they'd search for him… right?

"Boy!"

Harry jerked, nearly kicking over his bucket as a figure eclipsed the light streaming from above decks. He used a hand to shade his eyes. No tentacles. No fur. No extra arms. Someone new?

"Get your arse up here. How long do you need for one deck, eh?" The voice was rough but more human than anything else Harry's heard that night.

He grabbed his bucket and, hand still shading his eyes, took himself back upstairs. The man shifted aside to let him pass and although Harry braced himself for the new horror that the crew would present, the man seemed more or less normal. It wasn't until a closer look did Harry spot the thin, glowing streaks along the man's arms and the stretching of skin between the fingers. In the day, they were hardly noticeable.

"Hurry it up, boy. Get yourself to the forecastle and clear up the mess Tally made. I'm Grue, by the by. If you have a need for a new pair of trousers or some sturdy, real sea worthy shoes, you be calling my name. They'll be yours for a couple of years."

Harry blinked. That was more conversation that he expected. "Uhh alright." He looked down to his newly dried clothes. Dudley's cast offs but they were serviceable enough. Certainly better than the tatters Grue and the rest of the crew had on. No wonder if they wore the same thing for years on end.

The deck was crowded and in the sun and looking through the corner of his eye, the crew seemed less like monsters. Davy Jones stood at the wheel, his hat and tentacles setting him apart from the rest. The smell stayed, though lessened by the sea wind. The sky above was clear although clouds flocked at the horizon and the ship rocked something awful.

"Well? What are you waiting for," Grue said. "Get that swab to the forecastle, boy."

Harry picked up the bucket and turned, slightly hunched in on himself. "Sorry, but what's the forecastle?"

He didn't get smacked which was better than yesterday. The threat of violence was still clear in his mind.

"What are you boy, a landlubber? Never been on a ship before? Look there," Grue said as he pulled Harry around to the front of the ship, pointing to elevated, sectioned off part of the ship overlooking the main deck. "That there's the forecastle. Now get to it and make it spotless. Or as spotless as the Dutchman allows. Quickly now, or Pugwash'll get on your back about it."

The trip across deck was far more hazardous without the safety of walls around him. Thankfully, the crew as one seemed intent to ignore him, each with their own jobs. At least, they did until a misstep and stumble sent him sloshing water clear onto the breeches of a man draped in netting and seaweed. The man growled from a mouth filled with tentacles and Harry ducked his head with an apology.

It was then that he saw the polished gleam of a familiar handle. Wedged into the space between two wooden barrels, it was a miracle it hadn't dislodged in the rough tides. Harry gripped his rags and cast a shifty eye over the rest of the crew.

"Stable the outhaul line," came the voice of the Captain. "We be in for a storm tonight."

Harry snagged his wand in the flurry of movement that followed the order and tucked it as securely as he could into his sleeve. Thank Merlin. His heart was frantic and all at once Harry could see himself making a break for it.

He had magic again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The weight of his wand was the best reassurance he could ask for as he climbed the forecastle. It didn't do much against the sight that awaited him.

There was blood everywhere. Bright red, just what you'd expect from a human. Splattered on the railings, in puddles on the floor, sloshing with the movements of the ship. Harry dropped everything, made for the sides and threw up what little was left in his stomach.

Nothing came up but bile and acid and Harry stayed, panting and trying not to think about how his hands were stained red from the blood that had been on the wood. He couldn't get the taste out of his mouth.

"Help me."

Harry jerked back. A creature lay, tied to a wooden crate with rope and covered head to toe in blood. With skin covered in rows of tiny suckers and gleaming a bright blue, it was easy to overlook the human face that stared back at him. Harry swallowed.

Two other crew members worked at scrubbing the forecastle. They kept their heads down. Harry dropped to his knees and took up his rags. He made a show of cleaning the deck, moving like the other two swabbers, all the while moving closer.

It had been punished – that was obvious. The extent of the punishment wasn't something Harry could get his head around but he focused on the fact that the creature was still alive, still conscious. Maybe these people were… fast bleeders or something.

"Help me," it called again. "Help me."

Harry edged closer, ignoring the cloying scent of iron and the dampness on his knees. The thought that his trousers wouldn't last as long as he expected drifted into his mind and he fought down the urge to laugh. If he started, he didn't think he'd be able to stop.

"Hey. I'm here," he whispered as he got close enough. "How do I help you?"

He didn't seem to hear. Harry lifted a hand and hesitated – the suckers on his skin latched onto the crate that he was tied to. He settled with poking the man with the end of his mop. No reaction.

"Help. Help me."

The man's eyes stared blank into Harry's side. He didn't blink even when Harry threw the rest of his water into his face.

A spell. Did he know a spell that would help him? He couldn't think. What did he know? Lumos. Levitation. What else? He'd been to the hospital wing enough to have seen some healing spells hadn't he? There was too much blood.

Harry grit his teeth and scrubbed at the floor with greater vigour. He was only a second year and apart from the fluke – and he knew they were flukes – with Quirrell and the basilisk, he couldn't do anything more helpful than transfiguring a mouse into a snuffbox.

He looked back at the man and unwillingly resigned to his own helplessness. At least, he would for now. Hermione would approve but Harry needed answers. He'd been able to roll with the unfamiliar – he knew he was adaptable, but there was nowhere to go on this ship. He was penned in.

The sun was low in the sky and his shoulders aching before the forecastle was clean. Harry was soaked elbow deep in drying blood but it didn't bother him as much as before. A relief, to be sure. The man with the suckers had been untied some time ago, groaning and still mumbling _help me. _Harry hadn't looked.

But he was gone now, and the last hours of the day were filled with various other orders from Grue to clean one deck or another. Nothing had been close to seeing the blood for the first time.

"What did he do?" Harry asked as he wrung the pink stained water from his mop as he cleaned his arms. He ducked as the lantern hanging on a peg in the wall swung around and grimaced at the grime under his nails.

Grue leaned against a weapon rack, idly sharpening the blade of an axe.

"Who? Oh you thinking of Tally? Don't. He got what he deserved. A tad more than I'd have recommended but he wronged the Captain something big, boy. He got what he deserved."

Harry, sensing the other man's unwillingness to talk, held his silence for a few moments more. He dipped his hands into the water and tried to get them clean. His wand clunked against the bucket but Harry covered the sound up with a cough.

"I felt better. After I took the oath, I mean. I'm not that tired, even now. There's something going on here, isn't there?"

"That be the curse," Grue said.

"Curse? You mean… magic?"

Grue snorted. "Magic, voodoo, the work of the gods, who can say. All I know is a curse's a curse and us ordinary folk don't have a hope to get out of it. Being with the Dutchman does things to a man that changes him. The longer you stay, the more you're changed. Soon you'll be taking on the sea and in a few dozen years end up like the others."

Harry stilled and felt his breath catch. The crew had been human once, but cursed to change into the monsters they were now. _He'd_ been cursed to change.

Grue spread his webbed fingers. His glowing streaks were more prominent in the bilge and ran all along the man's arms and head. They didn't seem so bad, but Harry had seen some of the more disfigured crew and his spine crawled with the thought of someday becoming one.

"How long have you been on this ship?" Harry asked. If he could get a rough estimate – not that he was planning on staying for anywhere close to a year – he'd feel a little better about the whole curse.

"My old ship capsized two leagues from the port of Tortuga and Davy Jones came to claim the ones who survived. The summer storms of 1653 were nothing to sniff at, but if only we hadn't been blown off course-"

"What?" Harry interrupted. "What did you say?"

Grue straightened and flashed his reflection from the axe he'd been grinding. "Watch your tone with me boy. Just because I'm not treating you like a maggot doesn't mean I'll tolerate any of this snapping."

"I sorry. Just. What year did you say it was?"

Harry stood, eyes wide and disbelieving. One hand cupped his wand, still hidden in his sleeve and tried to keep himself from shaking.

"I didn't. You got a bit of memory loss, ehh?" Grue said, grinning.

Harry clenched his fists but bit his tongue before he could lash back. Instead, he nodded. "The saltwater must have gotten to me. Sorry. I must have forgotten like you said. What's the year?"

Grue crossed his arms and stepped forward until he was so close Harry could feel his breath on his face. He stood his ground.

"You, boy, have the pleasure of living in the year of our Lord 1670."

Harry felt faint. How… how could he be in 1670? He checked Grue again, to make sure the man wasn't lying. 1670?

"Don't shake your head, boy. I'm not a liar. A pirate, a scoundrel, sure. But I'm not a liar. Not unless it benefits me, you see, and I don't see a reason why I'd lie to you. We're both part of the Dutchman now, and- hey where are you going?"

Grue's voice fell behind as Harry dashed across the ship, climbing up each level until he ran, blind into the dimly lit main deck. He pushed past one of the crew, heedless of its hiss and dodged out of the way of a punch.

"Get out of my bloody way," Harry said as he pulled out his wand. It sparked glowing red embers that stayed in the air and the crew members that saw stayed their approach.

"Where's the Captain?"

The deck was silent, with every eye turned on him. Even with the burst of adrenaline Harry found it hard not to back down and retreat to his relative safety with Grue. But there was no going back now. He'd gotten everyone's attention.

The four armed Benny stepped out and took stance in front of a door to the quarter deck. Harry swallowed.

"What," it said, "would Captain want with a _worm_? Worm oversteps his line. Worm is to be punished."

Benny's arms contorted, bending clear around his back as the rest of the crew gathered in a tight circle around them. With a snarl, he pulled out four whips, one in each hand, and flourished them over his head. Tipped with sharpened steel, the sound they made as they moved through the air told of nothing but the promise of pain.

Harry gripped his sweat slicked wand. He could feel it heat up in his hand as the spell came to his head.

The door behind Benny flung open and Davy Jones walked out onto his ship, tentacles writhing, but it wasn't enough to stop Benny. The whips came at Harry all at once.

"Expelliarmus!"

Harry couldn't miss in such close range and the jet of red hit Benny clear in the chest. The whips when flying and their owner was blasted straight back into the Dutchman's Captain. Jones grabbed Benny and shrugged the man like he weighed nothing.

Harry lowered his wand just an inch, ready to cast the spell again if the Captain even moved for his sword.

Jones stepped forward. Step by step, calm, gaze unnervingly on Harry's. "What. Was. That?"

But Harry remained silent, wary.

"Answer me, boy!"

"Magic," Harry said. "That was magic."

* * *

**AN: Hello! Hope you've enjoyed so far. If so, I'd love a review. I've got some awesome plans for this... some hints are out already and I bet no one will see it coming. Welcome to guess tho ^^**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Magic?" Jones hissed.

Spittle flew everywhere and although the Captain was still by the door, Harry felt some slick to his face. Then the anger seeped out of the tentacled man and he looked at Harry with narrowed eyes, and silence was the sudden conclusion of the violence from before. Even Benny seemed caught up in what the Dutchman's Captain was thinking.

_"Magic?" _Jones asked again, but quieter and to himself. He turned slightly and Harry, taking it as weakness, stepped forward and drew himself to his full height.

"I need some answers, Davy Jones."

He'd fought a basilisk, Harry tried to remind himself. He fought a basilisk with a _sword_ and however Jones and his crew were monstrous and cruel, they weren't fifty feet of snake and fangs as thick as his arm.

"Why am I here? Why did you bring me here?" Harry yelled. He _couldn't _be in 1670. It was impossible. Grue was lying, or he was deluded, or… or…

Davy Jones spun around, only to be met with the shaking tip of Harry's wand. The Captain eyed it warily, tentacles curling back over his face and took a step back.

"That is no way to speak to your Captain, boy." Jones asked, deadly calm. "Your path before you arrived in the path of the Dutchess is not my concern. Do not believe yourself so grand as to merit attention from _me._"

Harry shook his head, unable to make sense of it all. If not Davy Jones, then who? Voldemort? Voldemort was a whisp. Powerful enough when he had come out of Quirrell's head but to send him centuries into the past? He hadn't even _heard_ of something like this. Time travel. Time travel on such a scale!

"Worm should treat the Captain with respect." The gravelly voice of Pugwash came from behind him, followed by the rustling of fur and something else.

Jones lifted his pistol in one smooth motion and before Harry even had the opportunity to cast again, the man had shot. Harry could _feel_ the bullet as it whizzed past, inches from his head. There was a brief split second's relief of still being alive before a loud clink made him turn just in time to see a machete get shot out of Pugwash's hand.

"Act without order again, Pugwash and I'll have you flogged. Only I may punish the boy," Jones said.

The crowd muttered – Harry was not familiar enough with their mannerisms to differentiate displeasure from acceptance, but he was surprised enough to be suspicious of the Dutchman's Captain.

"Pugwash! Five lashes. The rest of you, get to your places. Sitting around, landlubbers, the lot of you. Fast or I'll have you whipped as clean as old Tally. And you boy, come with me."

Harry didn't stay to see the rest of the Dutchman disperse. Davy Jones opened the door from whence he emerged and ushered him in to the dark. Harry stood at the edge a moment, blinking and preparing for whatever lay inside.

He wasn't sure what he expected, but the captain's quarters were every bit as uncared for as the rest of the ship. A huge organ, rising well above his head, stood centrepiece at the end of the room. Even the keys were caked over with years of use and they were the cleanest part. It seemed well used, as much as anything on the Dutchman could seem as such but Harry hadn't yet heard its sound.

Around it laid pieces for seating and little else. Little else save for a small wooden table, upon which sat a curious chest. Of all the contents of the room, it was the sole piece absent of the grime and algae. Intricately carved, Harry could almost imagine it looted from a merchant vessel – something captained by a man without tentacles on his face.

Then Jones blocked his view and leaned forebodingly close. The door behind him snapped shut and Harry tightened his grip on his wand.

"Do not make the mistake of assuming my protection. I look after the Dutchman's interests and hers alone," Jones said. "Since the night when you chose life and swore yourself to the ship, you were mine. Your _magic_ won't save you now, not unless it also serves the Dutchman. You'd be wise to learn that, or your blood will mingle with the waters of the deep."

The sudden reminder of the poor man tied and bloodied on the forecastle had Harry fuming with rage.

"I won't let that happen," he said.

Jones stilled and twisted full around. "And what will you do to stop me?"

"I'll… I'll…" Harry spluttered, searching and failing to find any spell in her repertoire that would be of use. All but the disarming charm were mere children's fancies. If only his defence teachers had been not useless.

Jone's laughed, head thrown back, sending out a sound startlingly human, but of the vilest of humanity.

"So you can't do anything. You're powerless," the Captain said when he had finished.

Harry shook, opened his mouth to say otherwise and then closed it again.

"So you're every bit a worm as you appear." Jones shook his head, almost disappointed. Then he looked up and Harry had to shop himself jerking at the intensity of the Captain's look. "You took the whips out of Benny's hands, all four of them. Show me how you did that and show me what else you can do. Don't dare think of disobeying, boy."

Jones motioned and Harry took a few steps further into the room. As he drew near, something caught his eye that he had missed before. It was a heart, cast of metal and bound by chain, struck with patterns of waves breaking at the crest. Such a delicate thing, sitting on the organ...

Harry shivered at the sight, but knew not why.

With the scarcity of the room, Harry stood in a space wide enough to feel as if he was on display. He drew an unpleasant sudden parallel to Lockhart posturing on the stage erected for defence club and hoped he didn't make as much a fool of himself as the sham of a teacher. At least he didn't have a Snape of his own as his opponent.

Although, with a sly look to Jones, Harry wondered how much if anything of his magic he should show. Then again, there wasn't much he _could_ show. There were no pincushions to turn into hedgehogs here after all, and little that resembled a cauldron.

Something simple, maybe.

Harry cleared his throat. "I need something light and small."

Davy Jones used his tentacles to take off his hat but didn't yet hand it over. "Will it be damaged?"

"It shouldn't."

"Your first punishment, then, if you are wrong."

With a tilted head, Harry took the hat and set it on the ground. There wasn't much chance of him messing with the spell, especially after… And even if he did and it caught fire or something, there was a good chance a Reparo would fix it up.

Still, he was more than slightly leery at practicing on the Captain's hat that the man was so attached.

"Wengardium Leviosa."

Swish and flick.

Harry took a deep breath for the action of casting that particular spell brought back memories of bushy brown hair and then fiery red. He was in _1670_. They were so far away. Impossibly far.

Davy Jones leaned forward, more impressed with a simple levitation charm than Harry expected for someone obviously familiar with the unnatural. Rather, being unnatural. He waved a hand underneath the floating hat like someone searching for the strings in a stage magician's act.

"Is the object moved by wind, held aloft with the delicate balancing of breaths beneath?"

"No," Harry said, unsure of Jones's intentions. "There's no wind. It's magic that's holding it up."

Harry shifted and guided the hat back to the Captain.

"Any skill with water?"

"No…" Harry thought. "No."

"Unfortunate. No use with wind or water, the two things that would have served the Dutchman well. Shall I assume you don't have an affinity with the flame either?"

Harry shook his head and Jones let out a bubble of disbelieving laughter.

"So your words show false. You're the same worm you've always been, boy. Well, if that's it then it's back to the swabbing for you. Then at least you could be of use."

Oddly enough, Harry felt a deep sense of inadequacy as things progressed. Jones couldn't understand that two years at Hogwarts only gave him the basics. Without Snape he wouldn't even know Expelliarmius.

What had gotten into him? Seeking approval from Davy Jones? Harry's heart beat frantic, even as he caught up to the oddity of his behaviour, he couldn't stem the need to be seen as something other than _useless._ Was this the influence of the oath again? Or something else in his character?

Harry couldn't tell himself from this stranger he had become.

"I can… unlock things. Most things. And I can fix things too," Harry said, eager but still confused. Then, seeing Jones unimpressed with those, "I can make someone freeze in place."

Davy Jones's eyes sharpened at this and he stood, pacing. "That has potential. Especially when combined with whatever you hit Benny with. Ha. I see it now, the fear in their eyes as my men bear down on them. Although," Jones said with a pause for thought, "it will be something kept in reserve – the Dutchman's fended for itself over the years and it's rare enough that we board."

Harry untensed his shoulders at that. The ease at which Jones had talked of massacre had him fearing his future as a tool of destruction, but for now at least, that was to be spared. Then there was the side of him that was _happy_ to be of use, _happy_ to send sailors off to their deaths without their weapons and their bodies unresponsive.

Grue had spoken of change – physical change, with little mention of the mental side of things. Harry could understand, though. How much trouble did he have separating himself from what he was forced to become? How much more trouble will he have in a years' time or ten?

At that moment, he simultaneously hated Jones and accepted the man as his rightful Captain.

"Captain," came a voice from outside, followed by a series of sharp knocks. "Captain, we're here."

* * *

**AN: Jones feels out of character for me. It's kinda hard to write him… esp the dialogue. Was thinking of maybe doing the whole pirate accent but decided against it. Comments about his character either way?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Jones stood, brushed off his hat and set it back on his head. He stood, unusually stoic, one hand on his sword as if to fend off some invisible foe on his very ship, and Harry followed. The crewmember outside didn't sound like there was danger, but Harry couldn't be sure of anything from those cursed men.

He was one of them though, and didn't that just send a jolt of fear down his spine?

Jones made for the door, clunking from his wooden leg – wait, not wooden as Harry had first assumed, but a leg taken entirely from what would be a giant crab, narrowed to a tip and much harder and unyielding than mere wood. Harry shivered.

"Ready the boys for a landing," shouted the Captain as he threw the doors open. "We be tasting the earth beneath our feet once again. Take down the foresail and secure the anchor below! Haul the mizzenmast and hitch tight the main line."

Harry followed closely after, and unfamiliar as the crew's shellfish encrusted face was, he couldn't mistake the look of astonishment.

"Land? Here?"

Indeed, the island they were headed to seemed filled with little more than sand and the occasional palm. There were no other islands in sight – apart from the tiny one ahead, the horizon was blue. Harry used his hand to shade his eyes, counted half a dozen sea birds wheeling in the sky above and was equally incredulous. What were they doing here?

"You questioning me, Bluetail?" Jones' ire, thankfully not directed to Harry, was potent nonetheless.

Bluetail, a short, hunched creature, didn't have a tail as far as Harry could see. Instead, what he had was several limp strands of seaweed trailing behind him as well as a misshapen bulge on the left side of his chest. His face, although squished into an elongated tip, had no effect on his voice – a rich Scottish brogue that seemed ill-fitting his shape and setting.

He bowed and murmured a short apology and Jones stalked off.

"What are you staring at, new meat?"

Harry jumped and Bluetail lifted his head, scowling straight at him. The effect was something awful when combined with his streamlined head.

"Nothing, Bluetail," Harry said, eyes cast down. He knew how to deal with these types.

The fish-headed man snorted. "That's Navigator Bluetail. Now stop loitering and get ready to disembark." He shuffled off with a secretive, twisted smirk and Harry was suddenly apprehensive at the prospective of returning to shore.

The rest of the crew, spurred by their Captain's orders, drew together to gather on the deck. Men crawled from the tops of the sails where Harry hadn't even known people could stand, and the small cubbyholes hidden behind doors and the odd trapdoor. There were more than he'd ever seen. What he'd assumed to be the full crew before was nothing but a fraction and the decks grew startlingly full, startlingly fast.

Some, roused from sleep with joints creaking like the boards of the ship itself and others eager in their crouched stances, jostling for a place near the centre where Davy Jones stood.

Nearby, the more human types gathered around, Grue one of them, and Harry would have made for them but for the press of many jointed arms and hark exoskeleton around him. The smell was horrendous.

There was a moment's silence, anticipation so strong that Harry couldn't help getting caught up along with it. Every eye was on the Captain and Jones took them all in.

A seagull cawed and as one, the crew made an about-face from Jones, uncannily synchronised. Harry, stuck in front of the stairs leading to the back of the ship just about avoided getting bowled over in the ensuing rush for the water. He watched, jaw dropped, as one by one the crew threw themselves overboard, and fell with a splash into the sea half a dozen meters below.

He glanced at the Captain, saw Grue instead, and hurried to the man.

"What's going on?" Harry asked.

Grue turned, stared blankly at Harry for a moment before recognition bled back into his eyes.

"Oh it's you." Then he grinned and Harry got the feeling that any oncoming humour was going to at his behalf. "You're in for your first seawalk, boy. A shock to the system, but make sure you don't fall behind and you'll be fine."

Without a word more, he flipped himself over the railing and was gone. Harry looked back at the slowly clearing deck and the still immobile Jones at the centre of it all. A tall, spindly crew member pushed him out of the way and took his own turn off the ship and Harry stared after him.

Then in stepped Benny and Harry took a step back. He'd recovered his whips and they hung on his belt, all four of them. The man growled, cracked his knuckles with his backwards bending arms and leaved over Harry.

With a wordless growl, he slammed his hands down either side of Harry and trapped him against the railings. A jerk of the head over the side.

"But I can't swim," Harry protested. "The island's still… hundreds of meters away!"

Benny let out a burst of humourless laughter and arched his back and pressed Harry closer to the edge. Looking out, he saw only water. And no one in the water. Someone jumped over to his left and instead of turning to the surface after entering the water, disappeared from sight. There weren't even any bubbles.

"Jump or be thrown."

Harry shook his head, took a deep breath and climbed over the railing. He hung by the tips of his fingers for a second before an ungracious push from behind sent him tumbling off. The shock of hitting the water was a punch to the gut, but one that he managed to shake off easier than he expected.

Then everything was dark and he was back under the ship as it rolled over and over him, unable to find a way out, unable to breathe. It was cold – too cold to move, but he knew he must. His chest shook and everything was, at once, numb. His lungs burned and in his panic, Harry took an involuntary gasp.

But instead of getting a lung full of water, all his felt was a sharp increase in pressure before relief as water was squeezed away to nothing mid-inhale. The shock of that made him take a second breath, and again, he found that water filled his lungs with air.

Amazed, he reached up to his neck and there they were. Gills. He had gills. Numb as his fingers were, the flaps of skin arching around both sides of his windpipe were unmistakable. The water whooshed out with each breath and Harry lost himself to the sensation before a churning of water nearby caught his attention.

It was Benny, pulling himself along with strokes of his four arms, an unnatural spin like helicopter blades, cutting through the water. He sped forwards past stragglers like Harry in the direction of the island.

Those of the crew with swimming adapted bodies moved above the seabed. Some used their tentacles to curl through the water while others wound along with the assistance of side fins and webbed digits.

The more mundane crew swam as a human would and Harry found himself kicking forward with them. It was calmer in the quiet underwaves and, safe from the threat of drowning, Harry found his thoughts turning to other things.

It was 1670. It was _1670._ There was a part of Harry that absolutely refused to believe it still, it only to sheer away the despair that threatened to overflow. But then another part of him reminded himself that he was swimming underwater, breathing underwater and in the company of Davy Jones and the rest of his crew. What was 1670 in comparison to _that_?

The swim wasn't nearly long enough to put all his thoughts in order and soon enough his feet caught sand. Around him, the other men of the crew emerged as he, pulling out from the waves, as unnatural on land as they had been on the Dutchman. Those that had swam gracefully now limped or dragged their unwieldy fins and tails, creating tracks in the sand that no earthly creature could.

Harry shook the water from his eyes, had a second of panic where he searched himself for his wand, and then sighed when it was right there in his sleeve. Never again would he so carelessly forget about his only tool to protect himself, he thought. Not even if he spouted meter long tentacles. It was much too important that he kept it safe.

Jones stood on the shore and around him gathered the fastest of the crew. Harry hadn't seen the Captain overtake him and as he drew near, saw that the man's clothes weren't drenching wet as was his own. At the man's feet lay the chest.

Was this what he thought it was? He was among pirates, then.

They set off without a word, Jones at the head followed by Pugwash and Benny who carried the chest between them.

Harry trailed after, having found Grue and the other more human of the crew. Stopping at the first of the sand dunes, Harry realised that the island was larger than he had first assumed. On the ship, the bit of sand had looked mockingly small, barely worthy to be called an island but now that he was here, he could see how the disproportionately large outermost dunes had hidden the island's tropical green centre.

The stopped about halfway between surf and green. The chest was set down with a thump and two other members of the crew stepped forward with shovels. Jones didn't turn around until the hole had been dug and Harry, catching onto the sombre mood, kept his mouth shut just like the others and stymied his questions.

Later, when the chest had been buried and Harry swam his way back to the Dutchman, he pulled Grue aside.

"It wasn't treasure, was it?" He asked.

"The chest? It is a thing born of betrayal and pain. Be best not to ask further on it, lest you meet the same end as the Captain. We are not to speak of it, in any case. Forget about it, boy."

Grue turned away, then and handed Harry the ever familiar mop and bucket. He took them with a sigh and set off to the scrub as his orders dictated. One hand traced the lines left by his gills, still present even as he breathed air, and struggled to push down the ever growing dread.

* * *

**AN: Finding it really difficult writing 'ship chatter' without any knowledge of how they work. So I'm just going to make it up to sound plausible and as much like actual jargon as I can. Anyways, like? Didn't like? Suggestions? Errors? Encouragement?**

**Thanks for reading. 31****st**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"She's getting away."

Harry nervously stood polishing the barnacle studded spokes of the ship's wheel as Jones retracted his spyglass and thumped the wooden railing of the quarterdeck in frustration. Then his hands and washcloth was knocked aside as the Captain took helm and turned the wheel the barest hair width to the left.

After a night turning in the discomfort of the damp end wall of the third deck and a reel of rope for pillow, Harry was feeling worse for wear going about his cleaning. It was lucky enough the Dursleys had drilled into him the proper way to polish a wooden railing – even in his sleep ladled state he made a good show of working energetically.

"This wind won't last forever. Keep her steady on the mark!" came the Captain.

"Aye, aye," came the crew.

As tired as he was, the atmosphere of the ship was much too contagious as the groaning of men working at tasks harder than polishing filled the air. What wasn't being filled, though, as Jones had pointed out so many times that morning, was the Dutchman's sails.

Then, when the ship they were chasing grew smaller and smaller upon the waves and Jones became riled up by the Dutchman's speed, Harry found himself more than once with the Captain's focus.

"Now, time to show your worth, boy. The Spiracle's nearly lost us and without a real strong push they'll be able to land in Port Bursbury and boast of beating the Flying Dutchman herself. I'll be a poorer captain with an even poorer temper if that were to happen, you understand me, boy?"

Harry nodded, eyes wide, unsure of what the Captain wanted from him. He thought his position had been made clear yesterday – of something being held back for emergencies when the Dutchman's crew was unable to best an enemy in close combat. Now, with the other ship so far away, Harry was just another member of the crew.

"Men," Jones shouted down from the wheel. "Grab the ballaster Grue and tie him to the main mast."

Harry gaped. "What? What are you doing?"

With a snarl, Jones whirled around and stalked close. "You think I wouldn't notice you trying to free old Tally that day? Sneaking around as you were, you honestly thought I wouldn't know everything that happens on _my_ ship?"

Harry bit his tongue to stop himself from saying anything.

"Listen up boy. I have plenty of crew able to take care of Grue's work. It is no big loss if he ends with his throat slit. Your talents, if there are any to be had, better show themselves today."

There was a clamour on deck as Grue, struggling though not heavily, was dragged up the length of the ship. "It wasn't me, I swear on my mother's watery grave. What is it? Captain? Captain!"

"Silence your mutterings," Jones spat, "and if you're lucky you'll go without today. Your fate, as it were, lies on the boy's shoulders."

The Dutchman's Captain stepped out of the way with a sweep of his arm. As Grue set his eyes on Harry, there appeared a trace of betrayal and anger and Harry, eyes wide, couldn't do more than shake his head in denial.

"The headwind's pushing us back and that's every chance that the ship will reach port before we can catch her as otherwise," Jones said to Harry. "After wasting yesterday on that desolate pimple of an island there better be something bound for the Dutchman today or I'll flay the skin right off of your _dear_ Grue."

"No, I can't… there's no way. Hog- the school I went to never taught us any of that. There's… there's nothing I can do to help with… with… the chase. I don't know how." Stuttering awfully, Harry struggled to get Jones to listen, but to no avail.

Jones stared hard at the boy, eyes narrowed and uncompromising. "Then he'll be punished on your behalf." The Dutchman's captain turned and set his hands down on the railing overlooking the main deck. "Five lashes. Double spike, Benny. Warm your arms until the boy gets us close enough to the Spiracle and then you'll whet your whips in the blood of our quarry."

Harry hadn't even a chance to protest before he heard the crack of the whip and a guttural wail. He rushed to the front, dropping his washcloth and shaking in anger. His wand came out in a split second, trained on the four armed Benny for the second time in as many days.

The clawed hand of Davy Jones snapped on his wrist, pressure just enough to be bruising. Harry winced but held still. From below, another wail echoed between the sails with agony. Jones clamped tighter and the sharp barbs on his claw dug into Harry's arm.

"Don't even think about it, boy, or he gets ten more."

Then came another wail, accompanied by Benny's vicious laughter, and then another. At the fifth, Jones released Harry's hand and, shaken and horrified at the blood red welts on Grue's back, Harry stumbled away.

He tried to block out Grue's gasping breaths with his hands and sank to his knees. But for every part of him that was filled with fear another hoard up the rage and guilt. How dared Jones hurt someone else on his behalf? How _dared _he?

"Boy."

With that, something burst. He looked up, eyes cold and sharp, fearless in the face of the tentacle monstrosity that called himself Davy Jones.

"My name. Is. Harry."

All that anger, all the desperation for Grue to no longer suffer because of him – all that energy burst out of him and out roared a wind strong enough to bowl Jones clean over, to pull the wheel and half the quarterdeck railing off their joints, and, with the creaking strain of the main mast, smash into the Dutchman's sails.

Jones was, for once askew and speechless, and the crew equally silenced by Harry's display of power stood shock still, mouths agape.

Thrown off balance himself, Harry staggered as the ship lurched, driven by his magic and held on by the tips of his fingers as they careened towards the Spiracle. He was as shocked as anyone else but the reigning thought was one of relief – that he'd no longer have to hear Grue's wails of pain. Relief, and the ever rising wave of fatigue. His vision blanked and the sounds dimmed around him.

A sudden jolt startled his eyes open and he found himself sideways, lying on the deck, head throbbing from where he'd hit it on the way down.

Jones stood in the space where the wheel used to sit, laughing, coat billowing in the wind and one hand on his hat to keep it still. The ground was covered by splinters and a fine layer of sawdust but the Captain's eyes were on the ship ahead.

"Get below and straighten our lead, lads. There's no little than minutes before we catch up to her. Prepare the cannons!"

The wind that still billowed from Harry dropped, then dissipated into nothing but a faint breeze and the Dutchman slowed. Still, it had enough momentum that it halved the chase in as little as seconds. Harry found the strength to draw himself up just as the crew let out a cheer.

The Spiracle sat low in the water, closer than ever. Harry could nearly hear the shouts of the men on board as the Dutchman neared and before his eyes, the ship turned, no longer on its path of flight but arching around so its side was to the Dutchman. They'd chosen to make a stand.

Jones chuckled, and it was filled with the malice of victory. "Hard to starboard, drop the port anchor. We need more than the tiller has to give if we want to turn the Dutchman around. Bring out the guns!"

No, Harry mouthed. This wasn't what he'd meant to happen. That wasn't something he'd ever imagine could happen. He looked to his hands, unblemished as ever and his unassuming holly wand. But the wind hadn't come from his wand – it had come from him.

The ship rumbled as the cannon hatches slid open and the Dutchman sailed clear beside the Spiracle whose arms were both smaller and less numerous. There was no hope, in terms of sheer firepower, for the small merchant vessel.

The horror of the Spiracle's crew as they saw the countenances of the Dutchman's Captain and crew was unpalatable – their faces were gaunt, with even the tannest taking on a pale pallor, an abject silence in contrast to the Dutchman's cheers. There was a moment of curious joy as Harry laid eyes on the first real humans he'd seen in this world and the second stretched on until Jones raised his sword.

"Fire!"

And Harry raised his wand.

"Petrificus Totalus."

* * *

**AN: He he he. Things are going down. Waaaay down. Also, we hit 10k words. Whoot for an arbitrary base 10 numerical celebration point! Many thanks to everyone reading =] Every review is a joy to read. Continual feedback and suggestions are much appreciated.**

**31st**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Jones went down in a thud of sawdust, arms and legs snapped to his side and face a blank mask. The sound muffled by the Dutchman's cannons, firing in scattered unison. Plumes of smoke blocked Harry gaze, but the shouts from the Spiracle and the cracking of timber left no doubt to its effects.

Harry dropped his arm and stared, disbelieving at the fallen form of his Captain. There was the tiniest twinge of guilt as he saw the destruction wrought by his uncontrolled burst of wind magic but he quelled it mercilessly by reminding him of what Grue had just been through.

"Captain! Shall we give them another round?"

The there was no time to be feeling sorry as Pugwash's voice carried over the cannon fire. Harry backed away as he drew up the steps, looking with almost comic confusion at the sight of Davy Jones stock still on the ground, then raised his head with a growl.

Harry wasted no time in sprinting for the side of the ship, the crew member's furry arms missing him by inches. There was no way he had just done that. He'd taken down the Captain of the Flying Dutchman. He had to get off. Now.

Heart in his throat, Harry climbed over the railing of the quarterdeck and leapt.

His scream caught in his chest and another burst of whatever magic had flown through him curled around his arms. Wind touched his fingertips and the air was all at once sturdier and more fragile under his feet.

His fall slowed and Harry had a split second to realise the silence on both sides of the fight before, quite unexpectedly, his clothes ruffled and sheer wind shoved him up, billowing his hair and his frame with the force of a localised cyclone. It pressed on his mouth – so hard to breathe, like he was under water, only now it was due to some crazed malfunction in his own magic.

Up and up, it pushed him until, panicked with the figures like ants on the two ships, he shook and hovered. There was only so much preparation Quiddich could give him for the feeling of being so high up without anything under him to break his fall. The best he could hope for was a quick impact and a painless death – there were no fail safes here.

As if sensing his uncertainty, the wind below him wavered and Harry dropped a good two feet before he picked himself up again. But now, the same fatigue that had struck him back on the Dutchman sprung again and Harry slipped again.

This time he couldn't stop his descent.

"Ohhh bugger!" He called, arms flailing and trying to right himself mid-air.

Until he landed with a poof on the angled main sail of the Spiracle and by some miracle managed to grab hold of a rope. He jerked to a stop, shoulders straining with his weight, though thankfully not dislocated. Dangling by one hand in the middle of the sail, arm growing weaker by the second, Harry couldn't help but notice there still wasn't a sound from either ship. No sound and no movement as every eye was on him and every jaw dropped in astonishment.

It wasn't hard to make eye contact with a man from Spiracle. "Help me damnit," Harry shouted, twisting on his rope. "And run! Run while the Dutchman's Captain is down."

Then all at once there was motion – men scrambled around beneath his dangling legs, four to a rope, hauling and working together until the Spiracle swung achingly slow away from the Dutchman. Harry hung on with weakening fingers as the sail filled once more with wind – this time of a natural origin, and his rope buckled.

"Here, give me your hand."

Harry looked up to see a young boy, no older than himself dangling on a side mast, hand outstretched and beckoning earnestly. He was heavily tanned and wore a slip made from rough fabric and trousers that had white lines of salt in its seams. His hand was just far away enough that Harry would have to leg go and trust in fate.

Unless he could gather up enough strength and luck to make one of those wind burst things again but there was a quota for the risks he wanted to take in a day and today's just about filled it.

"Come on! You have to get down or we won't be able to turn with the wind."

The boy leaned down further. Harry gritted his teeth and made a try for his hand but fell short just an inch. He gasped as his remaining hold on the rope strained his shoulder further and a sharp twang of pan shot from his elbow to his chest. For a moment he was sure he was going to fall but he managed to get his other hand back on – a ghastly reminder to that time with his broom, only his friends weren't there to break the curse and no one would be able to save him if he fell.

He looked up from the sight of the deck below, much too far for his liking. "Not enough. Just a little more."

"Tarnish and plunder," the boy cursed. He wrapped his legs around his perch and balanced hand-free as he tore off his bandanna and used the extra reach to get to Harry. "This should do it. Grab hold and hope the thing doesn't tear."

Harry reached once more and caught the knotted end. The boy grunted and then Harry's entire weight was on the thin scrap of fabric that had been a bandanna. But it was made of tougher stuff than he gave credit and held as the boy pulled him up onto the more stable wooden beam.

Both of the caught their breaths for a second, Harry holding desperately to the boy as the ship crested a swell. He took the time to look over his shoulder back at the Dutchman but his old ship was still in the water and not yet reacting to the Spiracle's escape.

But even as he watched the crewmen burst into action on its deck, a vaguely familiar voice coming over the wind. It wasn't Davy Jones' – Harry could just about see the Captain's immobile form being carted off by his crew but whoever it was, the Dutchman wheeled around and started up on the Spiracle's tail.

Not good.

"Let's get down. So you can turn or whatever," Harry said.

The other boy nodded, jumped up and offered him a hand. Harry, leery of risking his fall again, jerked his head and shuffled on his stomach, hugging the beam close to his chest. He hadn't made a few meters before the odd positioning and the roughness of the timber had scratched a dozen marks on his arms.

"That's not going to work, buddy. Come on, I won't let you fall and the netting's only a few steps away."

Harry took the hand this time, and shaking, got to his feet. It was in both parts thrilling and an extreme anxiety inducer for him to stand with nothing on either side on a bit of wood dozens of meters in the air, with the only source of stability a boy who looked hardly capable of keeping his own balance. But keep their balance they did and it was with the other's calm encouragement that Harry found his footing.

"That's it, buddy. Just come on, step at a time. That's it. You're not half bad at this. All right. Steady. Steady on. And there, grab hold of this and you're good to get down."

He sighed with relief when they reached the rope netting but Harry knew he couldn't let himself relax until he had climbed all the way down and onto the rocking deck. As soon as they had transferred, the sail twisted as men underneath pulled it straight and it caught the full of the oncoming wind. Harry could almost feel the ship surge ahead.

The rocking of the deck was a familiar rock and much more welcome than the wild swinging on the ropes above, but as Harry set foot on the planks, a shiver shot up his spine. Something wasn't right. There was an itch where he couldn't scratch and while it was something subtle, Harry had never felt anything like it.

Then the clamour around him quickly took hold of his attention as the crew – in a way not unlike the Dutchman's – scattered about, working together under the orders of a bare chested man at the helm. He and everyone else on the ship wore a similar bandanna as the boy – blue cloth patterned with grey stripes.

Behind the man, Harry saw the tattered sails of the Dutchman, further away that they had been a minute ago. They were escaping. Running ahead, riding the wind just like they had before Harry's wind pushed the Dutchman close. Now that he wasn't on board, they were sure to make it.

His helper swung down lightly beside him and Harry turned with a grin.

"We're faster!" Harry said. "It's not going to catch up to us."

The boy looked over but didn't seem to share Harry's joy. "We thought we'd clear them before but they were playing with us. I don't think we're anywhere near getting clear, and with the Spiracle hit…"

The smile slipped off of Harry's face with the boy's grim outlook and he glanced nervously in the direction of the Dutchman. If they were to catch up – if Harry had to go back under the rule of Davy Jones and be in the company of Pugwash and Benny…" Harry shuddered.

Grue's cries echoed back to him for a moment and Harry bit his lip, shaking away the guilt of leaving his… what was Grue? Friend? Companion? A good man, in any case, and one who had suffered under Benny enough that Harry felt responsible.

Harry didn't want to think about what would happen to the man after this stunt of his. They must understand that punishing Grue when Harry had already escaped would be pointless – they must!

"Come on. You're not going to be of use to anyone just standing around like that. With me and we'll help raise the main topsail." The boy hesitated and an odd look came over his face. "Unless you're hurt anywhere? Getting catapulted like that from that… _evil_ ship – and you being a landlubber and all."

Catapulted? So he hadn't seen. Harry nodded once. "No I'm fine." He didn't know much about sailing or boats but Harry was sure of one thing and it was that sailors were a superstitious lot. Jones' crew had thrown him, but they weren't so much sailors as monsters on a boat. These men on the Spiracle? Harry wouldn't chance it even if he knew the flame freezing charm.

"Although how did you know-"

"Any man can see you're unfamiliar with the rigging. By the Gods I hadn't seen someone so helpless on a mains rope since… actually, I don't think I've ever seen something like that _ever._"

Seeing Harry's embarrassment, the humour seeped out of the boy and he turned serious with a glance back at their pursuer.

"Now come on. We'll need all the hands we have and you'll play your part for the ship that'll save your ass."

Harry couldn't help Grue any more, but if he could make the wind do the same trick as he had before, he would nearly guarantee these men their lives. Superstition or not, if it came to a matter of life and death, Harry wouldn't hesitate. That would be a vow.

"I'll do my best," Harry said and held out a hand. "I'm Harry."

"William. William Turner but you can call me Bill."

And so they shook.

* * *

**AN: Two surprising things happened this chap that I hadn't planned on. Tho I think they make good additions to the fic. Thoughts? Reviews are appreciated as always.**

**So I'm going to be alternating updates with this and my other fic, Let Live and Let Die, a HP x Death Note. Until next time, 31st.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"One, two, three, heave."

Harry wiped the sweat from his forehead and pulled in time with the counts, Bill in front of him and another three taller men in front of him. The sail – it was called the fore topgallant or the fore topsail or some such – twisted on an angle that brought it face on to the wind. Harry didn't know much about ships but even he could tell that the Spiracle was fast.

"We're losing her!"

Faster, it seemed, than the Dutchman. Harry risked a glance in between one set of counts. The young man at the head of the rope line was only a few years older than Harry himself, but he was the son of the Captain or so Bill said, and had risen up the ranks with the help of a noble name and a well sized bit of family fortune.

In the short half day that Harry had been on the Spiracle and in between the heart stopping moments when the wind fell or changed directions entirely and the risk of the Dutchman catching up became all too real, he had managed to ask some discrete questions about the vessel and the men aboard it.

"Land ho!" came the call from the crow's nest but everyone was working too hard to celebrate.

The station at the ropes dispersed and Bill caught Harry's arm and dragged him away to the hatch on the left side of the ship where they climbed down below decks. Unlike the Dutchman, the Spiracle was well lit and taken care of. There were no overgrown crew members sticking to ground nor dripping barnacled scum on the walls.

Instead, the planks were polished and in some places painted with a tough layer of gleaming blue that matched the bandannas everyone wore. Brass oil lanterns hung on hooks, but they were either very secure or welded in place for they didn't follow the dips and rises of the ship.

If Harry thought men above decks were busy, it didn't have an inch over what was happening here. People squeezed past each other, some with planks and tools in their arms and some rolling barrels towards a rope lift where they got hauled up to the deck.

"Here, grab yourself one of this, buddy." Bill motioned to a bucket and Harry winced automatically at the sight. He took one anyway – they couldn't be for swabbing, with so much happening and besides, cleaning the Spiracle didn't seem the horrendous task that it was on the Dutchman.

"It'll still be a few hours before we can get to Poulston and Spiracle's taking on more water than we can get out of her. Whoever's not needed up there's gotta come help and that means us."

"Poulston? That's the port we're headed to?" He had to yell to get heard over the sound of hammering and the clamour around him as men tried to get around each other with minimal collisions.

"Yeah, yeah that's it," Bill said.

Another pair of men passed, rolling barrels ahead of them and they had to press themselves close to the wall to avoid them.

"What are they doing with the barrels?" Harry asked as the men left.

Bill grimaced. "Captain's orders. We have to lighten her up somehow but it's a dear shame to be tossing out the rum when we went so far to get it."

"Oh," Harry said. If those barrels were all full of rum… that was a lot of rum. "So you're a trading ship?"

Bill snorted. "I'm a ship hand. Spiracle's a trade ship, although if we throw any more out…" The boy trailed off and redoubled his efforts.

"Then what?"

"Then we won't be able to get her fixed."

Harry didn't have to ask what that would mean. One look at his face and he knew all that he needed. They made the rest of the way in silence, Harry following Bill as they pushed through a narrow gap between a stack of barrels and then down another ladder.

"Mind your step at the bottom, its full wet."

Harry landed with a splash and shivered at the cold water seeping through his shoes.

"How bad _is_ it? There's so much-"

Then the ship rocked the other way and it wasn't just cold feet he got but cold knees as the rest of the water flooded back to the side. He had to grab onto the ladder to keep his footing and Harry stared, aghast at the gaping holes in the side of the ship. They were nearly bigger than he was tall and splinters of wood and debris were everywhere. Some, dangerously sharp had been shoved off to the side and men worked in the space trying to fix the Spiracle.

It was a miracle none of this showed up on deck. Harry thought outrunning the Dutchman was the only worry but he hadn't seen anything like this before. A thick, salty wind blew from outside and if Harry leaned a little more to the left, he could see a brown haze on the horizon. Land. Still far, but not as much as before.

"It's pretty bad. But not so bad that we can't make it."

Harry looked over at Bill and thought that he didn't seem to quite believe in his own words. But one thing was for sure – if they didn't make it and the Spiracle went down, it wouldn't be for lack of trying.

There were no less than a dozen men crammed into the waterlogged space, some nailing boards to the bottom of the hole as others whipped water up from the ground and tossed it out from the still open top. The ship dipped and a small wave pushed over the lip of the new boards and splash on an young man doing the hammering but he only shook his head free of the water, readjusted his grip, and continued.

Most had water up to their shins but Harry and Bill, being the unlucky shorter two of the room, struggled with mid-thigh. Some of the smaller pieces of furniture were floating. One man tripped over a small cabinet and scattered a box full of nails into the water and clambered up, wet and bore the brunt of his fellow's ire.

Harry followed Bill in bucketing up and chucking out the water and it was hard enough work at the beginning to keep both silent. The man they relieved slumped passed, soaked not with sea water but with sweat, bucket hanging limply in his hand.

The brief break Harry had enjoyed from moving from the ropes to the bilge had been just enough for him to catch his breath and soon he found himself aching all over again and blinking sweat from his eyes. But slowly, with more and more boards hammered in and the holes getting smaller, the water around their legs lowered and the men worked, if not slower, then with less urgency.

He and Bill took a moment and leaned against the wood of the hull. Harry upturned his bucket and sat on it, uncaring that it threatened to buckle and send him into the water.

"Hey what's that on your neck?" Bill said, breath still heavy.

Harry stood, fatigue forgotten and snapped his hands to his neck, eyes wide. His gills. How had he forgotten about his gills?

Bill, caught by his reaction, frowned in concern and took a closer look. "Come on, buddy, let me see. If you're hurt you're not doing anyone any favours by hiding it. I'm not any good at sewing a leg back on if it's fallen off but I'm handy with some bandages and cream if that's what you need."

Hands still clasped to his neck, Harry backed off. He hadn't had a chance to examine his gills after the trip underwater but they felt thin and flakey under his palms. Could he pass them off as cuts? No, no – the thought of having cream rubbed all over them sounded horrible. Fish used them to breathe, didn't they?

"Nothing. I mean. I'm fine. I don't think I got hurt and there's no time to be thinking of me when we have to…"

Bill stepped closer and stared at him with narrowed eyes. Harry clenched his teeth tight. The Spiracle must have seen the way Davy Jones' crew looked. Harry had a feeling the only reason they thought he was a captive was his still human form. If Bill saw his _gills_. He'd managed to keep the whole thing with the wind hidden, but this wasn't something he could hide.

"Then take your hands off," Bill said.

Don't let him see. Don't let him see. Harry was just a normal human without any gills or anything. There's nothing on his neck.

Bill reached out and Harry braced himself. Maybe he should've gone with the cuts after all. With the lighting, perhaps he could have made it plausible enough and then held off the medicine. Was it too late?

The boy caught his wrist and pulled and then it was too late and Harry resigned himself to whatever would come. He still had his wand and whatever magic he could push into an escape. If it came down to it, Harry thought he'd be able to fit in the hole – if he was fast enough and if he managed to avoid the sharp bits that remained from the cannon impact. The shore couldn't be that far away and besides, having gills meant he could breathe underwater. If it got him into this mess the least it could do was get him out again.

Everything rested on how Bill reacted but as Harry waited, he got nothing more to work off than a blink. Bill frowned slightly and Harry couldn't tell if it was in delayed shock or something else. Then he made a lap around Harry, shoes splashing in the ankle deep water with every step.

Harry heart was beating wild and he suffered through a few short seconds of the other's stares until he was unable to stand it any more. He grabbed the boy by the shoulder and pushed him back a step. Not hard, but enough so he got a hint.

"Are you done?" Harry snapped. "Seen everything you wanted to see?"

Bill held up his hands. "Sorry, buddy. Could have sworn I saw something."

He paused, as if to say something and Harry stiffened but Bill only shrugged and offered a small smile. "Must have been the sea water. Come on. Let's get back to it."

What?

Harry felt again the place where his gills should have been but found only smooth skin. He gaped, then quickly closed his mouth in case Bill or anyone else saw and took note. This was new. He hadn't thought anyone could reverse the changes and surely they must have tried. However useful an extra pair of arms could be, there were many more alterations that seemed to hinder more than help. The man encrusted with coral came to mind.

Perhaps it was because he was off the Flying Dutchman now and the oath had no more effect on him. That must be it.

Thank Merlin for that. He'd go back to how he was before and be free from Jones' lot. With one crisis done, Harry tried not to think too long on how he was still stuck in the 1600's and bent down, retrieved his bucket and joined Bill in bilging.

It was only minutes later that the wooden docks drifted into sight and the sounds of the town came through from the still present hole in the ship. Faint orders came from above, barely audible, followed by the sound of feet moving across deck. The anchor, or what Harry figured to be the anchor, splashed down nearby and there were three thick thunks as men with ropes dismounted. Harry could just see them land and secure the Spiracle.

"We're here," Bill said. "We made it."

Harry grinned and let himself get pulled into a one armed hug. It would be good to get solid ground back under his feet and the other boy's relief was palpable but out of the laughter coming from the two boys, only one held the tinge of strain.

**AN: Hm. What's happening with Harry there? Can anyone see where this is going? Slightly longer chap though I still didn't manage to get to the scene I had planned for. Oh well, thought it was a good place to stop. Really didn't expect Bill to be in this but hopefully everyone likes him. **

**Until next time, 31****st**


End file.
